


Being Needed

by ProcrastinateLater



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Date, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mild Language, Possible Rating Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinateLater/pseuds/ProcrastinateLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Jean Kirschtein is set up on a blind date with one Marco Bodt, but little does he know that his whole world is about to change with the sudden acquisition of responsibility and guilt.<br/>Jean Kirschtein finally understands what it is to be needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Needed

I supposed that they were trying to be nice. I truly believed that somewhere, deep in their hearts, Connie and Sasha were trying to a nice thing for me. Perhaps they felt guilty or something. The three of us had been friends since middle school and with the recent development of their relationship it left them going out more together and less with me. I got it, I really did. I was okay with it. So they _really_ didn’t have to do this for me. I told them such.

This, of course, didn’t stop them from setting me up on a blind date with one of Sasha’s friends from work.

It wasn’t the fact that it was with a guy. I’ve known that I was gay since freshman year in high school, and those two have stuck with me through every bit of it, homophobic slurs and unsupportive parents and all. I was thankful for this, naturally. The fact of the matter is, though, that I just wasn’t looking for a relationship right now.

 

I remember, clearly, how they’d both come barging into my one-bedroom apartment (to which I’d unwisely given them a spare key to), Sasha waving a piece of paper around above her head.

“JEANIE BEAN!” she squealed, a nickname she’d given me back in the seventh grade and still clung to today, mostly because it had always pissed me off. “WE’VE DONE IT! WE SET YOU UP WITH SOMEONE!” It was then that she slammed the piece of paper on the kitchen table in where I was sitting. It read, in neat handwriting across the page:

_Marco Bodt_  
_175 Rose Avenue_  
_565-754-0412_

“You’re picking him up tomorrow night at seven,” Connie added.

“Am I?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“Yes, you are,” Sasha confirmed. I sighed in response, knowing there was no getting out of this. I accepted my fate.

I offered them a beer.

 

The two of them stayed for another hour or so, catching up and sharing a few drinks before Connie announced that he had work in the morning (he worked for some law firm, I don’t know) and they made their leave.

After they had disappeared behind the front door, Sasha popped her head back in for a parting comment.

“Wear something nice!” she said with a grin on her face, immediately closing the door after them.

I rubbed a hand across my face and let out another sigh. What had they gotten me into?

 

* * *

 

 

I woke up the next morning with a slight hangover (I had continued to drink after the disastrous duo left). I had shielded my eyes with my hand as I staggered from the bedroom into the kitchen where I helped myself to some Advil and a large glass of water.

I bummed around for a while, watching some TV from the counter while making the oh-so-nutritious breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, a personal favorite of mine.

I had decided to forgo a shower rather than be late (again) and suffer (another) chewing out my by slightly frightening boss, Levi. I changed into the mandatory uniform and slathered on what I hoped would be enough deodorant before grabbing my keys and jumping in my car to take myself to the ever-exciting job of being a barista at Starbucks.  Joy.

 

My eight hour shift finally ended around four in the afternoon (I worked Monday-Friday, 9-4). I dragged myself back to the shitty apartment I called home and logged on to my computer and wasted time on there for a while. It wasn’t until nearly five-thirty that I remembered my date. I cursed at my own forgetfulness before shoving my laptop off my lap and began the process of getting ready

I’m not going to lie: it’s been a while since I’ve had to get ready for a date, so I was a little rusty as to the process. I began with taking a shower of decent length, deciding to do a little manscaping (you never know). Upon the completion of this shower I strutted my bare ass ( _“This would be one hell of a time for Con and Sash to barge in,”_ I thought) to my bedroom, and Sasha’s order to “wear something nice” came to mind.

Something nice? What even qualified as “something nice”?

I decided that a burgundy, brown, and white flannel paired with skinny jeans would have to suffice for something nice. Considering that I didn’t actually own anything better, this would have to do. This went for my shoes as well, I thought, as I slid my standard pair of sneakers onto my feet.

I headed back into the bathroom and quickly came to the conclusion that there was to taming the mess that was my hair, so I tried to do my best to make it at least lay so it appeared _somewhat_ presentable. I ran a razor over what little stubble I had and slapped on some aftershave and was finally ready to go. I had some time to waste before I left, however, so naturally I ended up fretting over my appearance some more.

At 6:40 I deemed it an appropriate time to leave. I grabbed and put on my coat, stuffing my keys, wallet, and the piece of paper with Marco’s address into my pocket. I headed out to my car

 

As it turned out, this Marco only lived about fifteen minutes away from me, so I drove around the block a few times before coming to a stop in front of 175 Rose Avenue. It was 6:57, so I allowed myself a moment to collect myself.

It was just a date, right? If I wasn’t that in to him, or if I managed to embarrass myself to the point of no recovery, that would be that. I wouldn’t have to go out with him anymore. That’s it.

At 7:01 I got out of my car and began to walk up to the door. It was a nice house, perhaps on the smaller side. I didn’t notice another car sitting in front of the house, which is why I assumed it was I that was picking him up.

I raised my finger to the doorbell next to the door, paused to take a breath, and pressed it for what I hoped wasn’t too long. A voice came from inside.

“Hold on!” it called. I held on.

A moment later the door opened and a flushed face appeared in its face.

“Hi!” he said, extending his arm for a handshake. I complied, taking his hand in greeting. “You must be Jean, I’m Marco.”

“Yep, that’s me,” I said, trying not to make my face to appear too unpleasant. We let our hands drop back to our sides and he stepped over the threshold, locking and closing the door behind him. “Let’s get going?” I said, making it sound like a question.

“Sure,” he confirmed.

We walked back to my car and I opened the passenger side door for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and although it was dark I was almost certain that the flush on his cheeks deepened. I went around and climbed into the car on my side and started the car, pulling away from the curb into the street.

I was glad to see that Marco had dressed in a similar fashion to me, wearing a short sleeve blue button up, also opting for jeans and sneakers. His dark hair was neatly parted in the middle, and he always seemed to have a smile plastered onto his face that if it had been anyone else might have come off as borderline creepy. It suited him, though.

One of the things that stood out to me the most about him, though, was the abundance of freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones. They were so prominent that they stood out even against his slightly tanned skin, and they seemed to dance as the lighting shifted as we passed streetlight after street light.

We drove for several minutes in silence before he spoke up.

“So, where are we going?” he asked. To be completely honest, I hadn’t thought much about that until I was on the way to pick him up. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“I was thinking that Italian place in town: Maria’s,” I replied, glancing over at him. “You’ve ever been?”

“No, I’m pretty new to the area,” he said. “But it sounds great.” He flashed me a toothy grin, and I may have smiled back.

 

Twenty minutes later we were walking into Maria’s. The place wasn’t too fancy, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to get in in the clothing that we were wearing.

“Table for two,” I said, walking up to the hostess. She nodded, grabbing two menus from the podium and motioning for us to follow her.

“Right this way,” she said, flashing us a smile. We complied, following her down a hall and through the restaurant until we arrived at a booth in the back corner of the building. Marco took the side closest to the back wall, so naturally I sat parallel to him. The hostess handed us out menus and went on her way, leaving us alone.

We each pondered over the menu for a while before the waitress came over to ask us about drinks.

“I’ll take a strawberry margarita,” Marco said, and I suppressed a grin at his ‘girly’ drink choice.

“A water for me,” I told the waitress. Although I’d love to have a beer or something, I was driving. Even though having one wouldn’t hurt, I don’t want to give Marco the impression that I drink and drive. The waitress nodded (Petra, I now noticed from her nametag).

“Alrighty, I’ll be right out with that, “ she said, flipping her order pad shut and walking towards the kitchen. I turned to Marco.

“So, Marco, how old are you?” I asked. He looked young, but considering I knew nothing about him except for his name, address, and number (thanks, Sash.), I figured I might as well start somewhere.

“Twenty-five,” he said. I nodded. He was only one year older than myself. I told him such.

“Maybe not a whole year, though,” he said. “When’s your birthday?”

“April 7th.”

“Yeah, see, mine’s June 16th, so I’m only older by a few months,” he pointed out. It was then that Petra appeared once more, both with our drinks, two small plates, and a basket of breadsticks.

“Thank you,” Marco said, taking one of the plates. I followed suit.

“I love these things,” I told him once Petra walked away again, taking a breadstick as well. I watched as he nodded, taking a bite of his own breadstick. His eyes widened, and he hurried to chew and swallow the doughy goodness.

“Amazing,” he managed before taking another bite. I laughed, taking one of my own.

“Tell me about your friends?” he asked me. I complied.

“Well,” I began, swallowing the breadstick. “You know Sasha, obviously.” He nodded with enthusiasm. “She’s kind of crazy. Just last night, her and her boyfriend Connie—a childhood friend of ours—barged into my house,” I continued, causing him to laugh. “This other guy Eren is a piece of work. Strongly driven, not really knowing his boundaries. He’s a bit of an asshole, but we get along sometimes.”

“They sound nice,” he noted.

“Occasionally. You know how friends are,” I told him, leaning forward slightly. “What about you?”

“Like I said, I’m kind of new to the area, so I haven’t gotten much of a chance to meet anyone yet,” he answered. “I only moved here a few months ago.”

“Why’d you move?” I asked.

“Ah...” he started. “Well, I moved here when my parent’s died in a car crash in the spring.”

_Nice fucking job, Kirschtein. Fucking brilliant._

“Shit, Marco. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s been a few months, I’ve gotten over it.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, relieved that I didn’t trigger something. “Anyway, they left me the house, which is why I’m not presently living in some crappy apartment.” _Like mine._

Petra showed up once more to take our orders. Marco ordered the ravioli after pondering the menu for a moment more, and I got the spaghetti. I was thankful for the interruption, hoping that it cleared the air of the morbid topic.

And indeed it did. We talked almost the entire times, covering topics such as hobbies, habits, movies, and more. The conversation eventually turned to work.

“You work with Sasha at the bakery, correct?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, humming through a mouthful of ravioli. He swallowed, continuing. “I’ve liked baking since I was a kid, so it seemed right that I pursued it.” I nodded.  “What about you?” My shitty job. Great.

“Er, well, presently I’m working at Starbucks.” I paused, checking for any reaction in his face. There was none, god bless him. "I'm sort of working on getting my writing career off the ground, so…” I trailed off. This, for some reason sparked his attention more than anything. He sat up straighter, leaning in towards me.

“Really!” he exclaimed as loudly as it was acceptable to do so in a public place. “That’s really cool!”

“I guess,” I shrugged. “I could let you read some of it sometime, if you’d like?”

“That’d be amazing!” he said, his smiling widening (who knew that such a thing was possible?)

 

The night continued in this manner, filled with pleasant conversation and laughter. I learned that Marco absolutely loved dogs, and so I told him about the black lab I had as a teenager, which he loved hearing about.

Petra came back and asked for dessert, which we both opted out of. She then gave us the bill, which I grabbed before Marco had a chance too. (“You don’t have to,” he argued. I told him I wanted to.)

Even as we left the restaurant the chatter continued, never running out of things to talk about. Talk of music tastes came up in the car on the way back. Marco said that he’d listen to just about anything, and I told him of my fascination with alternative music. I turned on Arctic Monkeys as an example.

“Hey, I know this song,” he noted. “It’s pretty good.”

Damn right, it is.

Before I knew it, I was walking Marco to his front door. He looked over at me.

“I had a great time, Jean.”

“So did I,” I agreed, nodding. I surprised myself by continuing. “We should do this again.”

“Mmhm.” He was searching his pockets for keys. He looked back up at me. “Goodnight, Jean,” he said, turning to open his door. I grabbed his arm, and he turned to look back at me. I leaned forward and lightly pressed my lips to his.

After a moment I pulled away to see the blush spreading across his cheeks. I turned to walk back to my car.

“Goodnight, Marco.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you guys could tell me what you think about this so far that'd be A+.


End file.
